


The Weather Outside

by destinae



Series: Winter Wonderland [1]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Daddykink, M/M, Modern Era, Phone Sex, VERY NSFW IM SORRY, i was in the mood for some holiday sin and wanted to put off updating other stuff, the latter two characters are only mentioned in passing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5418896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinae/pseuds/destinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A five-part fic about two idiots in love during the winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. non partagé

    It was winter when Lafayette arrived, but not a single flake of snow dared make the dangerous trek from cloud cover to the ground. Even what had already completed the seasonal journey was melting on the thin pavement as George Washington’s boots tapped against the concrete outside of the airport.

    He was not nervous.

    What reason did he even have to be nervous? The dynamic between himself and Lafayette remained questionable-- just ruminating on the mere concept brought George a strange breed of anxiety. He had known Lafayette (or Gilbert, he’d made the habit of using the names interchangeably) for quite a time, since well before it was considered acceptable to even be attracted him-- which was exactly what ate at George. Lafayette’s grandparents had lived next door to George, and would bring the growing boy over to his place every year when he visited during the summer.

    For some reason, Lafayette’s parents had not permitted visitation during the winter, and George had never been sure why.

 

 

    They became good companions when Lafayette turned 16, the boy spending days with George when his grandparents were out on the town or otherwise too tired to take care of him. Their relationship had been entirely platonic at the time, too. George could never be attracted to someone who wasn’t even 18, especially someone he’d essentially seen grow up and acted as a surrogate father to. They spent most of their time together walking the city streets, eating out and seeing whatever broadway shows were on and strolling through central park, and it warmed George’s old heart to finally have a kid to show the city he loved so much.

    But things had changed when Lafayette turned 19, when he came back after several years of absence and had grown so much. He was taller and leaner and every feature George had always seen as adorable had defined into sharp edges. His hair had gone from red to a darker auburn shade that looked like amethyst when it got caught in the passing son-- he was a beautiful young man, and George couldn’t deny it. Time had been kind to him.

    It had been the idea of Lafayette’s grandparents for him to spend another day with George. Of course, George had gladly obliged. They spent the day on the town again, but everything was different. Lafayette was different. He’d sat closer to George this time, speaking in lower tones about his misadventures in France, the kind of trouble he’d gotten into, in the confidence that George wouldn’t judge him.

    And he didn’t.

    That trip changed things, though. After they got out of their traditional musical viewing, Lafayette stood close to George, thin frame not dealing well with the evening temperature drop-- or maybe he was fine, and he just wanted to make his intentions clear. Regardless, Lafayette’s small frame pressed against George’s, and he had unwittingly put his arm around Lafayette’s shoulders.

 

 

 

    A text brought George from his reverie. Lafayette. He had arrived at the airport. Stepping through the automatic doors, George navigated his way to the baggage claim, but soon got lost in his memories.

 

 

 

    It wasn’t the last day they spent together on Lafayette’s vacation that year. Because his parents were old and ailing, nearly every day Lafayette was in New York was spent with George, chatting and eating and seeing shows and flirting. But George had denied it-- he wasn’t flirting with Lafayette, he couldn’t. The kid was just that: a kid. He was nineteen and promiscuous and daring, but still a kid. He always would be. There was something different, though. In his swagger and his tone and his body language, something hungry, something reaching. Reaching for more between them.

    When Lafayette had departed, he’d expressed this verbally for the first time.

    George had received it as well as one could imagine.

    He was old, he explained, and boring and not the right person to fall for. Lafayette, of course, had just smiled this shit-eating grin and insisted that it was all those things that drew him closer. By the time his flight had arrived, however, they had reached an impasse. Their goodbye was a brief embrace.

    It had been Lafayette’s idea to visit during the winter.

    At midnight a few weeks after he’d left his visit previous, he called George, begging him to allow him to visit when it was snowing. Even through the phone, George could tell that Lafayette was drunk and probably not in the right mind, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying yes. It wasn’t after the phone call ended, of course, that George had realized that Lafayette would be visiting him, not his grandparents.

    Shit, he was in too deep.

 

 

 

    Then, from across the baggage claim, George saw Lafayette approaching.

    He was walking with a certain sway, a grey scarf exaggerating the way he seemed to almost dance with every step he took. As soon as George looked at Lafayette, he looked away. He was embarrassed by the way his stomach lurched a bit at the sight of the other man, how the way Lafayette’s smirk was visible even across the room.

    And then it wasn’t across the room.

    “ _Bonjour_ , George.” Even through Lafayette’s calm tone, George could sense some exhaustion.

    “ _Ça va_?” George asked finally turning to look at Lafayette, taking in the way that whatever hairs hadn’t been pulled into a messy bun framed his face, how the black jacket he wore flattered his waist, how Lafayette’s hand reached for his own--

    “ _Bien. Et toi_?” The one answer was almost whispered as the Frenchman’s hand closed around George’s

    Immediately, George pulled his hand from Lafayette’s own, crossing his arms and nodding. “I’m good.” He ditched the French, deciding it was far too intimate, too personal-- this trip had been meant to straighten out that George wanted a strictly platonic relationship, not that he was falling for the ridiculous and eccentric frenchman with a penchant for an irresistible snide confidence.

    George grabbed Lafayette’s luggage, avoiding looking at the other man’s face, not sure if he wanted to see how Lafayette responded to the subtle refusal. It was… it couldn’t be. Ever. George took the luggage and led Lafayette to the car.

 

 

 

    He remembered how they would speak on the phone after that call.

    How Lafayette would call him at all hours, at varying states of sobriety.

    How Lafayette would slur confessions of love, insisting that he needed George.

    How sometimes, just sometimes, George would buy into it a little.

    How he’d sometimes say, voice hushed with arousal, how he wanted Lafayette too, to touch every inch of his body, fuck him until they both forgot why they ever hesitated to, show him exactly what this old man was capable of--

    And then, of course, George reminded himself of the shame afterwards, how he’d bear the misery of his actions with such sickening disgrace. He was forty, he ought to have more taste than telling Lafayette that he wanted to fuck him.

    It was simply depraved.

 

 

 

    “Have you missed me, George?”

    Before answering, Washington put Lafayette’s suitcase into the trunk of his car. He looked up to see the young man in question leaning against the thing like it wasnt a 1967 Ferrari. “Of course I did.” The reply came naturally and honestly, and George could see a flash of delight cross Lafayette’s face.

    “How badly did you miss me, big guy?” He was reaching for George, wanting him to come closer, to press his body against his own, to kiss him--

    “Badly enough to pay your round trip airfare.” The answer was curt, and George went around to the driver’s side of the car, getting in and waiting several long moments for Lafayette to come around and take a seat in the passenger seat.

    “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Washington?” Lafayette asked as George put the car into drive, beginning the journey home.

    “Nothing.” He said. “I missed you, Lafayette.” A pause. “A lot.”

    “Oh, you did?” The mocking amusement returned. “I could have come sooner--”

    “I wanted to make sure you would see the snow.” George interjected, “Sorry, kid. It was a matter of time.”

    In his periphery, George could see Lafayette recoil at the nickname. “Fine.”

    “Take a nap, son.” They turned off the airport property, “You need it.”

    Lafayette was much obliged to do just as much.

 

 

    At the first red light they arrived, George looked at Lafayette’s face. Fuck, he felt so creepy, watching him sleep, how his chest rose and fell softly, his forehead pressed against the cold windowpane, breath fogging up the glass. George wanted nothing more than to let Lafayette’s hair down and see how it would flatter his cheekbones like it had last time he visited.

    The last time he visited.

    A familiar pain returned to George’s chest.

   

 

 

_“I’ll be leaving soon, George.” Lafayette said, scooting miraculously closer to him, causing George to put his arm around his shoulder, gently rubbing his arm, unable to kee a small smile from his face. “I’ll miss you. Beaucoup.”_

_French. It was their little secret, their escape from everyone around them, where they could retreat when they were afraid of anyone else hearing. It was a verbal embrace. “Lafayette--” He said, looking at the younger man with a strange reverence, wanting more than anything to close the distance between their lips, but knowing that it was best for both of them that he put as much distance between their mouths as possible. “I’ll await your return with bated breath.”_

_A delighted hum from Lafayette, who rested his head on George’s shoulder. “Je t’adore, mon cher.” He purred, voice low, accent thick, hand searching for George’s. When their fingers touched, a feeling traveled through the older man that reminded him exactly what was going on-- he pulled his arm from around Lafayette, shrugging the man off his shoulder, folding his own hands together._

_“Gilbert--”_

_The young man sighed in response._

_“I- can’t do this.”_

_“Sí!” Lafayette protested, “You can, and you want to. I know you do. George--”_

_“Please.” He insisted. “Even if I wanted any kind of romantic involvement with you, it’s not right. I practically raced you, Gilbert.”_

_“Stop calling me that--”_

_“Listen to me, son.”_

_“That, too--”_

_“I enjoy my time with you, a lot. More than I should. But this isn’t right. It can’t happen.”_

_“Why not? Who’s to say it’s not right, that we can’t be magnifique? George, I don’t care-”_

_“I do. I have a reputation to uphold, Gilbert.”_

_“And it’s more important than your feelings?”_

_Hesitation. “Yes.”_

 

 

 

    They came to a stop outside of George’s house.

    It wasn’t much of a house, really, more of a hole carved out of the monolith of New York City that George had managed to pin down long enough to pay the mortgage off on.

    He reached over and shook Lafayette’s shoulder, rousing him from his slumber.

    Almost immediately, the frenchman was pinned to the window staring at the white blanket that covered the entire block. “ _Merde! Regarder toute la neige!_ ”

    George couldn’t help a soft laugh, before realizing his hand still rest on Lafayette’s shoulder. He let go. “So you like it?”

    “Of course I do!” Lafayette replied, awe oozing from his voice. He threw open the door of the car, nearly falling out in his eagerness to stand in the snow. George followed suit, rising out of his car and closing the door. He watched as Lafayette scrambled around on the snow and icy concrete, visibly overwhelmed by the sight of it all. “C’est belle!” He exclaimed before almost throwing himself across the hood to where George stood. “How do you not cry every time it snows here?”

    “You get used to it.” George answered, not bothering to hide the fondness in his tone when Lafayette took another step toward him. “Been seeing snow like this since I was born, kid. You tend to get disillusioned after school’s cancelled the umpteenth time.”

    “That just means more time in the snow!” Lafayette protested, walking around to the trunk. “Now come on, let me put my things inside.”

    George opened the trunk, and Lafayette grabbed the suitcase before he could, almost flying to the familiar doorstep of Washington’s place. George took his time getting to the door, struggling with the lock for a moment before the door swung open.

    Lafayette stood in the doorway for a moment, looking up at George, briefcase in hands.

    Then he was gone, flying into the entryway, dropping the briefcase in the hall before wandering further into the house. “Did you get new furniture?” he asked, stopping in Washington’s foyer.

    “Yes. It was a gift from Alexander.”

    “-- oh.” The reply was soft. “What has he been up to?”

    “Getting married. Him and Eliza have their wedding in a few months.”

    “So that’s why he could afford the furniture.”

    This elicited a chuckle from George who followed Lafayette into the foyer, examining it himself. “Do you like it?”

    Lafayette turned around to face George. “ _C'est bon d'être à la maison_ ”

    A smile crept onto George’s face. “You know, your grandparents will want to see you.”

    “They can wait.”

    “Oh?”

    “George, they’ve waited this long, they can wait a few more hours. Besides--” He said, crossing the small entryway and coming to face George. “I’d much rather spend my time catching up with you.”

    Not budging, George cocked his head slightly. “What’s that entail?”

    “Well,” Lafayette replied, reaching for the lapels of George’s jacket and beginning to fiddle with the top button, “We should start with removing your jacket.”

    “And where will we finish?”

    The devious smirk that George was all-too well-acquainted with appeared on Lafayette’s face, and he stepped up on his toes, body against the other man’s, and whispered, “Me, naked, b--” He stopped mid-sentence before muttering, “ _Mon Dieu_.” And tearing away from George, tearing open the door and standing on the sidewalk, turning to look at George and saying, “It’s fucking snowing, George!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter done!
> 
> I kind of took a different direction with formatting and tone with this one, so feel free to tell me what you think. I know jumping between past and present
> 
> My French is terrible, but I'm probably not gonna go through the effort of correcting it because this fic is mostly just for fluffy reasons.
> 
> Also can we address George's uncontrollable libido? One second he's giving Lafayette the cold shoulder, and the next he's ready to rail him into another dimension. It's hilarious.
> 
> In case anyone wonders what he does for a living, my lazy explanation is that George comes from old money and is really good at betting and tends to gamble on horses a lot. Don't think too hard about it, just let 'em live.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Another chapter should be up tomorrow evening, if not by tonight.


	2. être intéressé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where things somehow get more precious.

    George had no choice but to follow him out back onto the street, where snow was dancing down from the sky, gracing every visible surface with invisible contributions to the already-thinning layer of snow on the ground. Lafayette was presently running into the middle of the conveniently empty street, holding his arms out to his sides, trying to get as much of the snow on his body as possible.

    “George!” He shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you see this?”

    George nodded, despite not having once moved his eyes from Lafayette.

    It was then that Lafayette, in the middle of the street and bundled up to an almost comical degree, got the idea of a lifetime. He kneeled down in the snow, gathering up the snow in his hands and forming it into a ball. Before George could register exactly what was going on, Lafayette chucked a snowball at him.

    It missed, landing a few inches to George’s right, colliding with the doorway.

    George smiled, and the city was warmer.

 

 

 

_“Who are you?”_

_“You can call me George.”_

_“George what?”_

_“George Washington.”_

_“C’est un nom de luxe, monsieur.”_

_“You speak French.”_

_“Bien sûr.”_

_“Your grandparents don’t.”_

_“What do they matter?”_

_George laughed, having already decided he’d like the little kid quite a bit. Granted, he’d been a bit hesitant to grant the favor to the Lafayettes-- babysitting wasn’t exactly one of George’s fortes. But he couldn’t help it, the kid had a certain spunky energy that George simply couldn’t ignore. “I guess they don’t.”_

_Then, out of nowhere: “How old are you?”_

_Another laugh. “You’re full of questions.”_

_“I’m allowed to be, monsieur Washington. I’m a kid, remember?”_

_But wise well beyond his years. “I’m thirty-two. And how old are you?”_

_“J’ai douze ans.”_

_“Really? You don’t look a day over dix ans.”_

_“Tu parle le francais, aussi?”_

_“Not much. I was taught it as a child, but I’ve forgotten most of it.”_

_“Well, I’m not going to stop speaking French. You better catch up.”_

_“Will do, kiddo. Hey--”_

_“Oui, monsieur?”_

_“How do you feel about musical theatre?”_

 

 

 

    Lafayette chucked another snowball at George, this one colliding square in the middle of the older man’s chest. The frenchman was in the process of concocting his third snowball when suddenly, a ball hit him on the side. “Hey!” Lafayette shouted, standing up, arm raised, snowball ready to fire. “Who did that?”  
    The answer came in the form of a kid who couldn’t be older than eleven, walking out from behind a car, smiling with dimples and a swagger loaded with childish mischief. Before the kid could get a word out, Lafayette pegged her in the face.

    For a moment, George’s heart was in his chest.

    And then the girl was laughing, stumbling around and wiping the snow from her eyes as she scrambled to pick up another snowball. “I’ll get you!” She shouted, voice shrill and amused. “You’re too slow, old man!” She shouted at Lafayette, pegging him with a snowball.

 

 

 

_“Aren’t you a little old for hot chocolate?”_

_“Aren’t you a bit young for that kind of judgement?”_

_“Nah.”_

_George smiled and took a sip out of his mug, leaning back into the booth that Lafayette had chosen, looking out the window at the front of the shop. Taxis rushed by, honking loudly, contributing to the rush-hour symphony conducted by the steady tempo of red, green, and yellow at every intersection. “What did you think of the show?”_

_“It was alright.” Lafayette said, sipping his tea: chamomile with two sugar and a splash of milk. “I liked seeing Central Park more.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Oui. It was gorgeous, all that nature packed into a few city blocks. Do you go there often, monsieur George?”_

_“Can’t say I do. You lose time for things like that when you start working.”_

_“Your life sounds très terrible, monsieur.”_

_George took a thoughtful sip of his hot chocolate. “Maybe. You find different things fun when you’re older.”_

_“I don’t ever wanna grow up, then.”_

 

 

 

 

    A few minutes later, every kid in the block had teamed up against Lafayette, and every teenager joining him to take down the little ones who seemed to be pouring from the cracks in the sidewalk. It was an all-out war.

     George took a seat on the stoop outside his door, wrapping his arms around his knees and watching Lafayette. A snowball pelted him on the right arm, and he gripped it in feigned pain, letting out a playful yell of pain and dropping the snowball in his arms, just to wrap his arms around the kid in question and lift him up, both of them grinning in delight.

     One of the teenagers tripped and fell, and then was tackled by a half-dozen kids, who simply shovelled snow on him, shrieking and laughing in delight.

     In the middle of it all, however, remained Lafayette.

     He was always at the center of everything.

 

 

 

_“C’mon, grandma, please lemme stay a little longer!”_

_“No, dear. Your grandpa’s cooked dinner fresh for you and would be heartbroken if you missed out.”_

_“I wanna stay with George!”_

_“Come on. Let’s go, Gilbert.”_

_“Then let’s have him over.”_

_“Dear, I--”_

_“I wanna have George over for dinner.”_

_“ Fine. We’ll have him over. Is that fine with you, George?”_

_Another smile. “Sounds fine to me.”_

 

 

 

     “Come on, George. Aren’t you going to join the fun?”

     Lafayette was calling it out to him, three kids dangling from various limbs, giggling and screeching. For a moment, he wanted to say yes. In fact, he wanted more. He wanted to peel those kids off of Lafayette, hold his face, and tell him how wonderful he was. He wanted to tell Lafayette of his brilliant spirit and extravagant grin, and he wanted-- fuck, George wanted to hold him. He wanted to kiss him.

     “No thanks.”

     “Oh come on, you old fogey!” Lafayette called. This was echoed by the children around him.

     And George rose to his feet, picking up a handful of snow, and throwing it at Lafayette. It hit its mark, right in the center of his chest, and Lafayette laughed, voice surely carrying into the heavens and reminding the angels how to sing. George walked across the sidewalk, into the street-- now pockmarked with dents and holes where the kids had made their weapons, and stood in front of Lafayette. “I’m not old.”

     “But you are a fogey.” Lafayette grinned, locking eyes with George.

     “I’ll make you eat your words, punk.”

     “Prove me wrong, George.”

     He might have, if a resounding horn hadn’t sounded, reminding George and all the others in the street that they were-- well, in the middle of a street. The kids scattered like roaches, and Lafayette and George were alone in the middle of the street.

     Then Lafayette grabbed George’s hand, pulling him off to the side of the street and letting the cars pass.

     “You lucky dog.” Lafayette muttered, smirking. “You owe me a rematch, monsieur.”

     Reality hit George hard when he realized Lafayette still held his hand, but he found himself so tragically hesitant to pull away.

     So he indulged himself.

     “Name the time and date.”

     “Let me think.” Lafayette replied, having evidently realized that George had no intention to let go of his hand and maximizing off of it, standing closer to him and pressing up against his side. “How’s tomorrow sound? Same time, same place. And I’ll--”

     “Gilbert!”

     George nearly screamed, letting go of Lafayette’s hand at the familiar sound of the boy’s grandmother’s voice. She hobbled down from her doorstep, scuttling down the sidewalk with all the speed someone of her age could muster, grabbing Lafayette and practically peeling him from Washington’s side, pulling him into a visibly uncomfortable hug.

     How could his hand feel so cold through a mitten?

     As she spoke to him, George walked back to his door, expertly dodging conversation.

 

 

 

_“Salud, monsieur George.” The kid said with a lopsided smile._

_“Au revoir, mon ami.” George replied._

_“Á bientôt.”_

_“Á bientôt.”_

_Then, Lafayette dropped his duffel bag and wrapped his arms around Washington’s legs (he had always been such a small child) and gave him a suffocating hug. “I don’t want to, monsieur.” He whined, “Can I live with you?”_

_“I would love to keep you here for the rest of the summer if I could, Gilbert.” George said, “But your parents are waiting for you in France--”_

_“They’re in Venice, actually.”_

_“They’ll be happy to see you. Maybe next time you visit, we can have some fun.”_

_“I want you to be my new dad.”_

_George smiled. “Goodbye, Gilbert.”_

 

 

 

     “Thanks for leaving me behind with my grandma.” Lafayette said, hand gently taking George’s again-- but he pulled away this time. His eyes were the same as that day: wide and happy and eager. George smiled a tight, strained, close-lipped smile. “What’s wrong, mon ami?” Lafayette asked, pouting.

     “Nothing.” George replied. “I’m glad you’re here.”

     “Moi aussi.”

     They shared a smile like a secret and walked to the doorstep.

     “Wait, George-” Lafayette said, “Stand still. I’ve got an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, another chapter down!
> 
> I'm really happy that everyone's been enjoying this, I really wasn't anticipating too much attention to such a goofy little thing. I've been trying to think of a way to make transitions between past and present more clear, especially since they happen pretty often in this chapter. I hope they make sense
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on twitter @hercmullligan (3 l's because robespierre deserved better)


	3. la faim familière

    George wasn’t entirely sure how he’d wound up sitting on his front porch step, arms crossed, watching Lafayette roll up mounds of snow, building crude snowman likenesses of the two of them. Lafayette had already completely George-- a tall snowman with stuck-arms crossed and scowl carved into its icy face with Lafayette’s deft fingertips, and it currently donned the thick grey scarf that Lafayette had donated it, giving it a strangely human charm.

    He was in the midst of constructing himself at the moment-- a shorter snowman, right next to the George snowman, who somehow already looked much happier than the one resembling George, despite the fact that it didn’t even have a face yet.

 

    _“George!”_

_George could hear the shouting before he even rose from his chair. The series of knocks at the door, feverish and eager, told George that Lafayette’s plane had come in early. He set down his book (IT, by Stephen King) and walked to the front door, where the knocking had become almost incessant. Then he opened it, and saw how Lafayette smiled._

_It had been a few years since they’d last seen each other-- poorly-timed business trips and infrequent illness had made seeing Lafayette for the past three years fairly difficult. That meant he was fifteen now, and the ageing was visible. He had shot up like a tree (or a weed), and nearly came up to George’s elbow, a visible difference from when his head had barely come up to George’s hip three years previous._

_“GEEEEOOOOORGEEEEE!” Lafayette shouted, springing forward and embracing him in what had to be a vice grip. “George, comment_ _ça va?"_

_“I’m doing well.” George laughed, patting Lafayette on his head.”Et tu?”_

_“I’m good. I’m great, actually. I’m awesome! I missed you.” Lafayette rambled, still not letting go of George’s waist. “My parents were worried about you, actually. Thought you might not have liked meeting me. But-- uh, I can’t wait to spend time with you, monsieur George!”_

_“Well, I’ve got a lot planned for you.” George replied, the smile on his face unstoppable._

 

    “Look.” Lafayette said, holding his arms out, presenting the two snowmen to George.

    They were hilariously quaint. The George snowman’s arms had been changed, one awkwardly bent around the shoulders (Neck? Snowman anatomy was an enigma to George), frown carved into a wide smile. George’s expression mirrored it, and he said, “It’s masterful. _Très bien_.”

    With a smile, Lafayette joined george on the front step, shoulder brushing against the older man’s. For a few long moments, George admired the art in silence, and then he put his arm around Lafayette’s shoulder’s, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “You’re somethin’ else, Lafayette.” He muttered, and Lafayette’s only response was to rest his head on George’s shoulder.

 

    _“Hot chocolate again?”_

_“I’m surprised you remember.”_

_“I’m not sure how I could forget, monsieur.”_

_George sipped his hot chocolate. “How have you been at school?”_

_“I’ve skipped a grade, actually.” Lafayette said with the same indifference that one would mention having to pause and tie their shoes. “The work’s still very easy, but I’m not sure I want to go through all the paperwork and testing to skip another.”_

_“You must be fairly bright.” George replied._

_“Well, monsieur, I like to believe that I’m not an absolute dunce.”_

_George chuckled. “I’m surprised your grandparents didn’t mention it to me.”_

_“They don’t know.” Lafayette replied flatly. “They-- we--” he took a sip of his tea. “They wouldn’t care.”_

_George could tell he’d pinched a bit of a nerve. “I’m sorry, Gilbert.”_

_“Don’t apologize. It isn’t your fault.”_

_“What isn’t my fault?”_

_“That my grandparents choose not to be in my life.” He said, running his finger around the rim of his cup. “Even when I fly from France to see them, they pawn me off to be with you.” Bitterness oozed from his tone._

_“Oh-- do you not like the time you spend with me?” George made every effort to hide his offense, that he had done so much to get close to Gilbert and make him feel at home in New York, but still hadn’t been enough._

_“No, I like it. You’re more family to me than they are. Monsieur, je t’aime.You are truly invaluable to me, and all the time you spend-- sir, you are a wonderful person. Don’t let my anger be misguided.” Lafayette smiled. “Your kindness is the only reason I keep coming back.”_

_Flattered and a bit embarrassed, George sipped his drink._

 

    George was brought back to reality by the sensation of Lafayette’s nose, which brushed against his jawline, breath warm on George’s neck. “George, _mon am_ \--”

    “Let’s go.” George spat out, pulling away from Lafayette, rising to his feet. “I want to take you somewhere.”

    “Oh?” Lafayette asked, rising to his feet as well, still standing close to George, smiling smugly. “Where are we going?”

    “You remember the cafe?” George asked, already beginning his walk down the street, trying to distance himself from the snowmen. From his house. From the memories. From his feelings--

    “Yes.” Lafayette replied.

    Of course he remembered, he could never forget. He was so brilliant, it only made George feel a little senile. He was only forty-- he wasn’t that old. “I thought we should stop by.”

    “Great.”

    They fell into step, one next to the other.

    “George?”

    “Yes?”

    “I missed you quite a bit, these past years.” Lafayette said, this time not looking at George, almost as if even he was embarrassed by his affections.

    “I’ve missed you too.” George said, trying to sound cold and indifferent. Even he couldn’t tell how distant he came across.

    “George, I- I’m not sure what to make of your feelings to me. And where we stand.”

    “Lafayette--” He sighed. “Gilbert, you need to understand my conflicts, why I can’t just-- you know--”

    “Fall for me.”

    The words, spoken in Lafayette’s gorgeous voice, in such a disheartened tone, made George’s chest feel as if it was about to cave in. “Right.” Wrong. George had already fallen for him, it was just a matter of navigating their history.

    Admitting it to himself was almost physically painful. Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was lust, but whatever it was had enough power over George to drive him to the thought: he loved Lafayette. He ran a mittened hand through his hair. Shit.

    “And it’s-- it’s confusing, George. How you’ll--” Lafayette stopped, grabbing George by his arm, lowering his voice to a murmur and continuing, “How you’ll talk about wanting to fuck me over the phone one night, and then the next you’ll send me straight to voicemail.”

    “Gilbert--”

    “It’s almost insulting, George. Can you not answer for your own libido? How can you act so offended by my feelings when you drive me to them with your--”

 

    _“George, I miss you.”_

_“I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy--”_

_“Don’t be sorry.” His voice cracked through the long-distance connection. “You couldn’t help it.”_

_“I guess not.”_

_“George. George, I want you.”_

_“What?” George gripped the arm of the chair he was in, the book he had been reading falling from his lap._

_“I want to touch you again. Do you want to touch me, George?”_

_He quickly realized where the conversation was going. Maybe it was something in the air, but George did nothing to stop it. “How do you want me to touch you?” He asked, hand falling from armrest to his own thigh, gently gripping the fabric of his pants._

_“Everywhere. I want your arms around me again, George. I want you to hold my face while you kiss me. I want your hands on my chest, on my stomach, on my cock--”_

_“Lafayette-” George’s voice was low and breathy, his head swimming in a mixture of arousal and guilt. He knew he should stop it, but Lafayette was nineteen. He was allowed to make these decisions, to give in every now and then._

_“Shhh, George.” He purred through the phone. “I want you to close your eyes. I want you to think about me, in your bed. I want you to see me sprawled out on your sheets, naked. Do you see it, babe?”_

_“Yes-”_

_“I want you to see me--”_

_“Lafayette, please--”_

_“What?” He asked, tone showing that he knew he had George wrapped around his finger._

_“Is this a good idea?”_

_“The best. Don’t you want to fuck me, George? Don’t you want to pin me down and fuck me into the mattress?”_

_God, he was going to hell. Without any conscious effort, George was gently palming his erection through his pants, head having fallen back, breathing heavy. “Yes.”_

_“Tell me exactly what you’d do to me, big guy.” He said, voice half a moan._

_“I- I’d kiss you on the neck, suck on your skin until you were covered in hickeys--”_

_“-- make me yours-- “_

_“-- I’d pin you down and fuck you slowly. I’d make you moan--”_

_“-- fuck, daddy, please--”_

_Jesus Christ, there was no punishment great enough for the fact that George was turned on by the sound of Lafayette’s voice calling him daddy, begging him-- he let a moan slip from his lips, low and guttural, as he unbuttoned his pants with his free hand. “I’d fuck you until you fell apart and came. Is that what you’d like?” George asked, stroking his own erection, “Would you like me to fuck you until you fell apart?”_

_“-- George, fuck, I want you right now. Please--”_

_“-- baby boy---”_

_“-- merde, baise-moi, s'il vous plaît--”_

_“-- Je veux vous faire foutre--”_

_By this point, George had practically come undone, stroking himself quickly, breathing fanatic, languages getting mixed up in his head, feelings doing somersaults over his conscience. “ George--” Lafayette muttered, voice a near-growl, “-- I-- I’m gonna cum--”_

_“Shit--” It was enough to send George over the end, and in a few brief moments, his chair was ruined, as well as his slacks. It was debatably the most expensive orgasm he’d ever experience._

_And then Lafayette hissed George’s name, letting out a low moan, and then lapsed into heavy breathing. “George…” He said, exhaustion palpable over thousands of miles._

_“Gilbert--”_

_“Je t’adore.”_

_“Au revoir.”_

_George hung up, and guilt descended upon him like a great weight he could never shrug._

 

    “I’m sorry.” George said, “For my irresponsibility.” For not making it clearer to you that I loved you.

 

_“Bonjour again, mon amie.” Lafayette purred through the phone. “Comment ça va?”_

_“Bien.” George replied curtly._

_“I’ve missed you since our last call.”_

_How could George forget? The sound of Lafayette’s moaning in his ears, the pleasure of his climax--- it couldn’t happen again. “I’ve missed you too.”_

_“Have you been thinking of me, mon lapin?” He asked._

_“Oui.”_

_“How have you been thinking of me?”_

_George knew what he was being led into. This time, he took the high road. “I’ve been thinking of how I took advantage of you. Lafayette--”_

_“George--”_

_“Listen, please. I miss you, and you know that. And I remember how we got along the last time you visited. But-- you’re like a kid to me, Gilbert. You’ll always be a kid to me. I can’t- I can’t have an intimate relationship with you.”_

_“But--”_

_“Enough, Gilbert. Au revoir.”_

_The phone call ended, and George felt gutted._

  
    “You ought to be.” Lafayette replied. “This better be some damn good cocoa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided it was time I get off my ass and update.
> 
> Welcome to hell, kids


	4. coupures profondes

By the time they were at the café, things had cooled down. For the most part.

The entire way there, Lafayette had walked nearly a foot away from George, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. It might have infuriated George, if not for the fact that Gilbert looked absolutely adorable with his scarf pulled up nearly to his nose. The snow danced around them, gently covering the ground of the city with a flaky reminder of nature’s graceful embrace. 

Inside, the air was warm. Toasty, even, and Lafayette was quick to remove his scarf-- and George took it from him. They ordered their hot chocolate, sitting in the same place they always had, the cold radiating from the window, as if winter hadn’t quite had enough of them.

“George, I should tell you that this is terribly tacky of you.”

“I’m sorry?” He asked, looking from the window to his friend.

“This nostalgia.” Lafayette continued, “All these traditions, it’s tacky.”

“Oh.” George stammered, not sure what to say, “I’m- I’m sorry, I thought you enjoyed it--”

“I do. It’s what I like about you.”

The hot chocolate was brought to them, and for a moment, they fell silent as they took their first sips. Bittersweet, topped with the foamy perfection of whipped cream.  _ Not unlike the city _ , George thought. Dark and bitter, covered in gentle white that made it seem so much better.

 

He remembered the last time it snowed.

 

“ _ Bonjour, mon ami!” Gilbert exclaimed, nearly jumping into George’s arms. _

__ _ It’d been a year since the last time they had visited, and a few short months since that last phone call, the one that had left George’s stomach in knots, that had robbed him of sleep, wondering if he had finally burned the bridge that had been built over many years between himself and Lafayette, his dear friend and companion. But in that embrace, any lingering fear had washed away. Gilbert’s heart was much too large and forgiving for such a bitter old man, but George revelled in it. _

__ _ “Comment ça va?” George asked, holding Gilbert at an arm’s length in an attempt to get a better look at him. Gilbert had grown up, filling out a bit and certainly growing taller. He was more sure of himself, too. His socks matched, for one. His hair was carefully coiffed, his shirt free of wrinkles-- but there was a childish spirit about him. And it made George crack a smile. _

__ _ “Trés bon, George.” He replied, “Now, let me get my bag. Unless you wish to continue staring at me like you want to eat me alive.” _

__ _ Feeling himself blush, George let Gilbert go, and he ran to the baggage claim. _

 

“I both love and hate this hot chocolate.” Gilbert said, “I love it because it’s so good, but I hate it because they have the audacity to charge six dollars for it. Six!” He said, before taking another sip. “Thank you.”

“You know you never have to thank me.” George replied. Gilbert’s company was more than enough a reward for all the favors George paid him. It was a healthy give and take, he liked to think. Gilbert came, bringing an unfamiliar, but much-needed, warmth to his life, and in return, George let him live the life that someone so radiant deserved.

Dear lord, he was in deep.

“Of course,” Gilbert said, smirking. “Saint Washington could never ask to have someone humbled before him, only to be humbled.”

 

_ “Are you taking a different route this time, monseiur?”  Gilbert asked, looking out the passenger side window as unfamiliar buildings passed by. _

__ _ “Yes. I thought that I’d show you something that interested me.” _

__ _ “Oh? Something interested you?” Gilbert joked, and while George’s eyes were on the road, he could hear the grin in the younger man’s tone, “There IS a personality under all that grim attitude!”  _

__ _ “Come on,” George said, unable to keep himself from smiling as well. “I’m not that dull.” _

__ _ “You are. Terribly dull and terribly boring. Don’t worry, it’s charming.” _

__ _ A laugh. “So that’s a compliment, I take it.” _

__ _ “Bien sûr!” Gilbert exclaimed, “People like me enjoy the company of people like you. You’re very… mysterious. Makes me want to crack you open just to see you smile.” _

__ _ George held back a comment about how just Gilbert’s presence was enough to make him smile. _

__ _ They turned on to another street, passing by a row of townhomes. “That is where I lived when I first moved to this part of town.” George said, “What was it-- thirty years ago?” He suddenly felt very old. “I would spend all my time sitting on the front porch, reading and writing. Thought I was living the perfect life.” _

__ _ “Were you not?” _

__ _ “No.” Not yet. _

 

“Come now, I’m not that much of a martyr.” George protested as he set his hot chocolate down, folding his hands on the table. “You must not actually think I--”

Gilbert laughed. “You’re really so concerned with what other people think of you, aren’t you?” He took another sip of the hot chocolate. “George, as your friend, I feel like I am the most qualified to say that your humility is debatably the most charming trait about you.”

Suddenly, the cold from the window threatened to swallow George whole. He couldn’t help but think back-- back to the phone calls. How his heart hammered in his chest both times. How he had been so full of fear, and full of lust-- his hands clenched to fists, and he smiled. “You’re too kind, Gilbert.”

“I know.” He said with a wink, finishing his hot chocolate and setting down the mug with a gentle clink. 

 

_ “Mon deiu-” Gilbert said, getting out of the car and walking up to the large brick wall in front of them. Well, it was more than a brick wall. It had been painted over, covered in a mural from bottom to top. Bright colors and sharp lines carved out landmarks across the city. On the right, buildings grew from the back of a woman carrying text books. The city’s skyline ran across the top, and all along the middle, faces of historic figures and scenes of pop culture filled the space. “It’s--” George watched, standing up on the driver’s side of the car, as Gilbert walked up _ __ _ to the mural, reaching out to it and touching it gently, as if it would disappear from existence if he were to touch it without great care. He ran his fingers along the bricks and turned to look at George. “Who made this?” _

__ _ “Not sure.” George replied, finally breaking away from his car and walking to where GIlbert stood. “The mural is part of a series, they’re across town. It was a commission to bring life back into the city.” He paused. “I thought you’d like to see it.” _

__ _ “Why’s that?”  _

__ _ George bit his tongue. He’d had a whole spheal planned, telling GIlbert how this would be his last visit. How the relationship between them had gone too far, too fast. George was old, busy, boring, and Gilbert had so much ahead of him. He wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life like George had, reading thick books and living in misery, surrounded by other equally miserable and rich people. He didn’t deserve Gilbert, not even platonically, anymore. The world had become a terrible and cruel place, and Gilbert deserved to spend his life in ignorance of it. _

__ _ Gilbert could never be happy when he was around George. It was a tragic yet unavoidable truth.  _

__ _ And George, George could simply never allow himself to be happy. _

 

“Are you going to finish that?” Gilbert asked, motioning at George’s mug.

He always asked that question, George always said no. “No.”

“Can I have it?”

“Of course.” George replied, watching as Gilbert finished the drink in a few sips. 

And then they had nothing stopping them from digging any holes. 

“George?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go on an adventure.”

Adventure. The word that George had, at the romantic height of his life, been obsessed with. If it wasn’t fun, if it didn’t teach him something new, he wouldn’t do it. In his twenties, every day was a journey to see what more he could squeeze out of his favorite city. Every day was an adventure, and he wanted nothing more than to let the world understand its beauty. In some ways, George felt that Lafayette was a reflection of his younger self.

“Where to?”

“It’s a surprise.” Gilbert said, rising from his seat and wrapping his scarf back around his neck. “Now, are you coming, or not?”

 

_ “Gilbert, do you know why I brought you here?” _

__ _ “How many guesses do I have?” Gilbert replied, turning to look at George. _

__ _ “I-- never mind.” George had hoped Gilbert would say it. He hoped that Gilbert would see that George was saying goodbye, that he had to let go. He HAD to. This love-- this affection, no matter how sincere, was dangerous. It wasn’t healthy, and George knew it. There was no way that he could justify that things he’d done to Gilbert.  _

__ _ He pursed his lips. “Gilbert, I’m saying goodbye.” _

__ _ A pause. “Like hell you are!” Gilbert said, pulling George into a rib-crushing hug. _

__ _ No. No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work out. Gilbert was supposed to scream, call him an idiot, punch him, something-- make this easier. Make George angry. Make him be able to disengage. “You can’t come back.” _

__ _ “The fuck I can’t!” Gilbert protested, pressing his face into George’s chest, pulling him impossibly closer. Then pulling away. “You’re joking, right?” _

__ _ “I--” George didn’t know what to do, what to say. This had been so much easier in his head. He had meant to take Gilbert somewhere they hadn’t been before. He didn’t want to taint any of their special places with such feelings of pain. “I can’t encourage this.” _

__ _ “Encourage what?” Gilbert snapped, crossing his arms. “Do you think you are forcing yourself on me, in any magnitude, George?” _

__ _ “Yes.” _

__ _ He shook his head. “You’re an idiot, George Washington. An absolute fool, and I hope you know that.” A pause, and Gilbert exhaled, putting his hands on George’s shoulders. “I’m not saying goodbye to you. Never. Regardless of-- regardless of the nature of our relationship, mon ami, I will always want to be your friend. Now get back in the car and take me to your house.” _

_     “I’m-” _

_     “It wasn’t a suggestion, George.” Gilbert said, already walking back to the car. “Let’s get into some a/c.” _

__ _ And just like that, with sheer willpower, Gilbert had changed the end of their story. _

 

George followed Gilbert onto the pavement outside of the café, and they stopped momentarily. “George, I have something very important to tell you, so listen to me closely, because I won’t repeat it.”

“What is it?” George asked, buttoning his jacket. 

“You’re terribly boring and have a nauseating taste in interior decoration.”

“Gilbert-”

“And I can’t stand you.”

Then, he stood on his tiptoes and kissed George square on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do u ever lie awake at night thinking abt how george hates himself and lafayette sees it and does everything he can to make george see his own beauty but only in the strangest ways because me too
> 
> manic pixie dream boy gilbert


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't read this if you love yourself.
> 
> however, if you wanna suffer extra hard, listen to Epilogue/The Story of You And I from Chess while you do. Here's a link:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGtvekzEoSA

_ The car ride home had been silent. Beyond silent, it seemed every noise that was made was absorbed into this antagonistic void that left George in this deeply painful silence with Gilbert. Gilbert, who changed the world with every word he said. Gilbert, who liked his world the way it was, thank you very much. _

__ _ “So what do we have planned for the day, George?”  _

__ _ “I, ah- I don’t know.” George replied honestly. “What do you want to do?” _

__ _ “I haven’t been to the park in a while. And something tells me, neither have you.” _

__ _ He was right on both accounts. “Are you sure you don’t want to change into something warmer?” _

__ _ “I’ll risk hypothermia, thank you.” Gilbert said, smiling. _

__ _ How could he do that? How could he ignore how George had just tried to end their friendship? How could the world be so infinitely brilliant to him? George turned onto another street. “Very well.” _

__

“Gilbert--” George stammered, taking a step away from him, putting up his hands, stopping Gilbert from coming any closer to him. “I-- this isn’t-- no. Stop.” He said, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.”

“And?” Gilbert said, taking George’s outheld hands in his, trying to lower them. “Why can’t we just change the rules?”

“Don’t do this to me.” George said. “Not here. Not now.”

Not where he’ll be reminded of the heartbreak every time he stops by to get a cup of coffee. Not where he’ll feel such familiar pain whenever the snow falls. Not there. He couldn’t stop heartbreak, but he’d be damned if he didn’t find a way to isolate it.

 

_ Gilbert stepped out of the car, waiting on the curb for George and admiring the thin layer of snow hiding most of the grass from view. “Come on, George.” He said, “We’re going to have some fun, even if it gives you an ulcer.” _

__ _ George couldn’t help but laugh. “An ulcer?” _

__ _ “You’re drawn to misery like a moth to a lamp, George. I thought I would show you a taste of the other side.” Gilbert said, leading George off the pavement and onto the snow-covered grass. When they were a few yards from the car, Gilbert turned to George. “Look at this.” _

__ _ “What?” _

__ _ “The snow, you idiot. Look at it. Don’t you think it’s beautiful?” Gilbert asked. _

__ _ “I think it’s cold.” _

__ _ Gilbert shook his head. “You need to stop being so… left-brained, George. Cut loose. Do you know what I see when I see this snow?” _

__ _ “No.” _

__ _ “I see you. The snow’s hard and crunchy and terribly inconvenient, but underneath-- underneath there’s this life that persists to grow, despite the weight put on it. You’re jaded, George. But if you let that go… if you just let it melt away, you feel alive.” _

__ _ “Gilbert--” _

__ _ “I’m not finished.” _

 

“George, don’t be like this.” Gilbert said intertwining his fingers with George’s. “It can’t feel wrong to you. You just keep-- you keep telling yourself that.”

“Yes. I do.” George said, voice a harsh whisper. “Because it is. You’re a child, Gilbert.”

“I’m twenty!”

“And I’m forty. Don’t you see how this is wrong? I can’t-- I can’t take advantage of you like this. I groomed you for far too long. If I’d known… if I’d known it would have ended like this--

“Don’t speak like that.” Gilbert said, brows furrowed. 

 

_ “You’re self-denying, George. Do you know why I didn’t let you say goodbye? Don’t answer that. I didn’t let you say goodbye because, without me, you’d rot away. More and more snow would build up until you just… suffocated and died. I can’t live with myself, knowing that I let you live your life so miserably.” _

__ _ “I’m not miserable.” _

__ _ “No one enjoys horse races, George. Not even you.” _

__ _ George sighed, breath clouding the air between them.  _

__ _ “George, I need you to understand that I love you deeply and honestly, with all my heart and body. Now, before you go off and bust an artery about this, I want you to know that I understand what this means. I know you are never going to tell me you love me back, much less even admit it to yourself. But I need you to know that someone sees through all your snow and ice. Someone understands.” _

__ _ “Gilbert--” George said, crossing his arms. “Gilbert, this is a lot.” _

__ _ “Look!” He said, smiling. “The snow is melting!” _

 

“I don’t think you understand,” George said, “I cannot love you. I can’t. I can lust for you, I can miss you dearly, but love-- it’s beyond me. My head can’t allow my heart to act like that. Not today. Not here.”

“How much longer are you going to talk like this?” Gilbert asked, gripping George’s arms. “You- you are so miserable!” He said. “Can’t you see how much I love you? Can’t you say that you feel the same?”

“No.” George said, pulling away. “I can’t.”

 

_ “Come on, Gilbert.” George said, fighting back a smile. “Let’s go.” _

__ _ “No.” Gilbert replied, sitting down in the snow. “I will not leave until you finally cheer up.” _

__ _ “Gilbert-” _

__ _ “Sit.” _

__ _ And George did, sitting beside Gilbert, watching as a small crowd of women walked together in the distance. “It’s cold.” _

__ _ Gilbert didn’t reply, lying down and slowly fanning his arms and legs into a snow angel. _

__ _ “You’ll get hypo-” _

__ _ “I don’t care.” Gilbert replied. “You should know by now that I never calculate the consequences of my actions.” _

 

“Gilbert, can we please take this conversation somewhere else?”

“No.” He said, “I want an answer now. Why won’t you let me closer?”

George clenched his hands into fists, breathing out through his nose and closing his eyes. “Gilbert, you have been too kind to me for the past years. You brought a light into my life that I did not know could be reignited. But-- I got confused. I thought that I loved you--”

“You don’t love me.”

“Not like you want me to. I can’t. I don’t have it in me, Gilbert.”

A heavy silence followed. Someone brushed past them and went into the coffee shop.

 

_ “You have a strange way of seeing the world.” George said, ignoring how the snow soaked into his pants, freezing his legs.  _

__ _ “Not strange,” Gilbert replied, still lying down in the snow, “Just honest.” _

__ _ “Honest?” _

__ _ “Yes. People-- people like you, you get caught up in tragedy. Taxes, mortgages, losses of family and loved ones. You feel the pain all too well. You feel it so much, you accustom yourself to it. You accustom yourself to misery, it becomes this new normal. I don’t do as much. I create happiness. I feel misery all the same, George, but I feel it in an auxiliary way. I let all my feelings in, not just the frequent ones.” _

__ _ “You’re wise, Gilbert.” _

__ _ “Or very, very stupid. But I like your suggestion.” _

__ _ George laughed, falling back and propping himself up on one arm, looking down at Gilbert. “You have much too much faith in me, Gilbert.” _

__

“I understand.” Gilbert said, expression grim. “I suppose you must want me to leave, now?”

“I-- yes.” George replied. “That would be easiest.”

“And just never return?”

“Gilbert-”

“You’ll get rid of me, just like that?”

George suddenly felt like crying.

 

_ “Maybe I do.” Gilbert replied, bring up a hand to cradle George’s face, wiping a snowflake from his cheek. “But someone has to.” _

__ _ And George smiled, and he felt very warm. “Je t’adore, Gilbert.” _

__

And so it was that George led Gilbert back to his house, helped him pack his bags, and sent him on the first flight back to France. So it came to be that George spent the rest of the winters of his life feeling colder than ever. The snow fell thicker those years, the blizzards unforgiving. He never did return to that café. The hot chocolate was far too bitter when he drank it alone. His life fell into an endless winter, even when the snow didn’t fall. He attended more and more races, moving into a bigger house in the country, trying to buy the warmth that Lafayette had given him with a touch. 

 

_ “I could never imagine my life without you, George.” _

__ _ “Nor I you.” _

 

__ The past and present exist in constant flux. Even as we are happy, we cannot help but try to remember when we last felt that way. We remind ourselves, in every moment, of times before it. So we live always in the past, even as we experience the present. This is the curse of the human heart: if we strive to be happy, we forget the pain, the humbling moments. If we live in misery and squalor, however, we forget how kind life has been to us. 

  
Thus, this is why George and Gilbert’s story ended as it did. Not because they did not love one another, but because they did not remember their shared past. They could not exist with one another in the present, because they constantly tried to reshape their pasts. This was what brought the long, torturous downfall of George and Gilbert’s love. Not pride. Not fear. Not lust. But memory, and how it systematically destroyed the reality of their love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha, ha, ha 
> 
> please don't kill me. 
> 
> keep an eye out for an extra painful and angsty oneshot that should be added to, and conclude, this series in the next few days


End file.
